How not to conduct a Seminar, Part 2

Who are seminars for, dear Reader? Are they conducted for scholars, especially those bent upon parading their knowledge? Are they for the general public, eager to listen, to understand, and to imbibe? Or are they for young learners, not yet introduced to the wiles of oratory, yet ready to patiently accept the gobbledygook that is quite often dished out to them? What about the organisers, the support staff, all the others who meticulously plan things so that the event is a success? Does everyone else pale into insignificance, waiting for Dr Labakudass (could be male or female) to begin? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind, and, tell me honestly, who has seen the wind?

I am actually talking about seminars, often conducted in colleges and universities, purportedly for the benefit of the student community. Early in my teaching career, I had opportunities to attend the All India Annual English Language Teachers Conferences, held in this University town or the other. Believe me, I have never come across, in my entire life, such a cackle of pseudo-scholarship, all for the purpose of obtaining a certificate! I decided then, a long time ago, that acquiring a PhD was not one of my priorities. Fate dealt me a different hand, however, and I joined the already fully-loaded bandwagon of quacks. Fortunately, I am not the preening type, but I love to laugh and sometimes criticise the antics of my scholarly brethren.

Not many years ago, my College hosted a Seminar on the topic of culture and its connection with national identity. It was certainty an interesting topic. Four speakers were lined up, including the moderator. He was fluent, to the point, articulate and interesting. The seminar, therefore, began on a sound footing. After that the cracks became visible.

At the beginning of this missive, I think I suggested that seminars are usually for students. A good speaker, to my mind, needs to gauge the intellectual capability of his audience and adjust his rhetoric, his message and his tone appropriately. Few academic professionals have this “sense”, and therefore tend to preach rather than teach. The second speaker at this seminar I was talking about, quite forgot himself while hearing himself, and his message, good in itself, was completely damaged by his free and frequent use of expletives and unparliamentary language. The auditorium was packed, with more than half of them young women learners, and it wasn’t a pretty picture at all. The third speaker trundled along, after the lunch break, and he kept the young listeners engaged, to say the least. The fourth speaker, I believe, displayed a kind of culture; he did not show up. I was in attendance right from the morning; in desperation I was approached, and I readily agreed. I spoke on the curious case of the Anglo Indian in this multicultural world of ours, and I’m sure many in the audience were hearing about my Community for the first time. Did I strike a chord? The Moderator, a Professor from Kerala, was taken up with my presentation; the organisers—my own College, my own Department, mind you—were happy that everything was kept under control, and the students went away, perhaps with the view that the day was well spent.

One more anecdotal blog to come, next week, and then I’ll be done with the topic.

Take a small piece of advice, handed down the centuries by rishis of old: “Know thyself”.

That is the true beginning of wisdom.